


Eviction Notice

by Groveheart



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fantastic Racism, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Violence, Poverty, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-02 20:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11517078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Groveheart/pseuds/Groveheart
Summary: Blake Belladonna has run out of options. A mistake of her own doing leaves what little she had built destroyed. In desperation, she turns to the only one left in Vale who would help her.She only hoped she could forgive her.Set in an AU where Team RWBY graduated from Beacon, but failed as huntresses. Teen for language and implied violence.





	1. 5:47 P.M.

5:47 P.M.

 

_Fuck this._

The rhythmic _click_ of shoes against pavement cut the silence of Vale’s streets. Blake was unsurprised by the evening quiet – most who were forced into the cramped, ramshackle apartments she called her neighborhood weren’t afforded the luxury of a reasonable work schedule; she was more likely to see the rush for home after midnight, rather than the early evening – but found herself grateful for it. The last thing she wanted right now was to listen to some idiot snickering at her as she walked home, or worse –  a friendly neighbor that was genuine concerned. Anything to avoid reliving her stupidity. Her left hand rose to replace the right over her eye, and she wiped wet blood onto the front of her uniform.

_I probably won’t need it anymore anyway,_ she thought.

The swell of a panicked sob filled her throat at the thought, which she expertly suppressed. Of all the weeks, all the days for this to happen, this was arguably the worst. Her landlord wouldn’t care if she got fired. He wouldn’t care for an explanation. There were no such thing as extenuating circumstances. In the past Blake had been sure to be punctual with her rent – though he loathed the “ _disgusting_ _halfbreed animals”_ that infested his apartments, he could not get around his building’s location in a faunus neighborhood – but she was already a _week_ overdue. Even if she saw the money she had worked for tonight, it wouldn’t be enough to make a payment. She didn’t know what she could…

She let the thought drop, her mind going blank. She hardly noticed a can crunch beneath her step.

After a minute of silence spent steadily building her nerve, she finally summoned the courage to spread her fingers and blink her blackened eye open. She could see the amber light of the evening – that was good - mixed with the black of her uniform’s shirt and the red of her blood, but the tears of pain turned any detail into a mess of indistinct color. The sight, while more a swirl of watercolor paints than vision, strangely pleased Blake – it meant she wasn’t blind yet. That was…pretty good news, at least. She could feel the river of dried blood over her brow where the metal knuckled of his glove caught her skin – one that was still bleeding, through even her long walk home. That was less good. Blake wondered if she could afford to keep it clean.

Her feet throbbed in her high heels as she _clicked_ up the five steps to the front of her apartment building, narrowly avoiding the cracks in the grey-painted cement that had given her more than one twisted ankle. She couldn’t bring herself to give the usual care she took when walking home; she avoided a second injury by sheer luck alone. Her feet were pounding and her head was pounding and her eye was still bleeding and she just wanted to put some ice on her wound and go the fuck to sleep.

The staccato sound of heel against pavement transformed into loud, echoing booms of stomping in her building’s stairwell. Every step sent a jolt up her nerves like nails driving into the soles of her feet. How desperately she wanted her shoes to be gone. If she was more daring, she may have tossed them out a window and let her stockings be ruined by the rough floors, but the rational part of herself won the day. She couldn’t afford to replace her stockings, much less her shoes. She would have to find a subtler way to rebel against her former employer.

At the very least, keeping her shoes saved her feet from the half-molded carpet of her building’s hallway. Her movements were mechanical – unflinching at the slam of the stairwell door behind her, ducking to the right to avoid the opened wall and construction that had been present for who knows how long, then counting four doors down. She fished her key from her pocket, then brought it to unlock her apartment door and push it open in one swift motion –

…only to collide face-first with it.

A meaty _thud_ rattled the wood as Blake slammed into her apartment door, smacking door into hand and hand into injured, still-bleeding eye. She let out a brief but shrill scream of pain, tumbling backward over a pile of her clothes and books to smack against the wall behind her. What little color she had against the blackness of her closed eye ran red, and she curled into a fetal position to seethe in her pain.

_Wait a minute._

The pain melted away in instant sobriety as Blake shot up from the floor and dug through the piles before her. These were _her_ clothes – everything from shirts to dresses to combat boots to stockings to underwear, tossed in a heap. Even Gambol Shroud, its thick layer of dust broken by the fingers that had tossed it out of its place in Blake’s closet. There was no stacking or organization, no rhyme or reason – it was though someone had merely tossed the contents of her drawer outside. A tower of her books collapsed as she shot forward to tear the pink paper from her door.

“Notice of Unconditional Eviction. You are hereby ordered to…”

The air ran from Blake’s lungs with a weak, shuddering whimper. Not today. Please, not today. Trembling fingers tore through her clothing to retrieve the key she had dropped, a shaky, hyperventilating breath steadying her just enough to slide key into lock.

It only sank halfway in before she was met with the click and stiff resistance of a mismatch. This time, she couldn’t contain her cry of panic. She _thumped_ back against the door and slid to the floor. This was it. She couldn’t do anything. All her work to dust in a single day.

She fished an old duffel bag out from the refuse and began stuffing her belongings into its pockets, the blood of her freshly-opened cuts dripping stains onto her clothes. She had little else to do, now. She kept herself from weeping in the middle of the floor with a grim determination – she had to find somewhere to stay tonight. Then she could cry her eyes out. But for now, she had to pack. Pants first, then tops, then socks, then undergarments. Gambol Shroud, then bows on top. She would probably need those again. Books went into the side pockets. At any other time, she would lament bent spines and folded pages – if only she had that luxury.

The weight of every belonging she owned bore down on her shoulder as Blake crossed a large strap over her front, pushing through her pain with a purposeful stride. There was only one place for her to go. She hoped she would never have this reunion.

Blake hoped she could forgive her.


	2. 10:13 P.M.

10:13 P.M.

_“Fuck this!”_

Yang pelted her controller across the room, the wire twisting around an empty beer bottle and sending brown shards of glass scattering over the wood of her floor. She couldn’t hear the mocking theme of “game over” through her sister’s shouting.

“YANG I TOLD YOU TO JUMP TWICE, HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO— “

“Oh, shut up! I’m four beers in, and besides, you’re the one who needed me to do this for you anyway.” She ignored the rhythmic banging beneath her floor from the tenant a level below. “You haven’t even touched yours.”

“I don’t know why you keep buying this stuff, anyway.” Ruby’s nose wrinkled, and she slid her personal drink – entirely full, minus a single sip – across the table in an offering to Yang. “You always say that this one will taste better, but then I try it and it always tastes like shit.”

“Don’t swear, Ruby. It’s bad for you.” Yang accepted the gift by immediately taking a gulp from the bottle, the thick buzz clouding her senses dulling the drink’s bitter lukewarmth.

“Hypocrite.”

A shrug of concession was Yang’s only response as she rose in search of her broom. Cutting her foot tonight of all nights would be awful. She’d probably die or something. The alcohol made it hard to think, but her dad would probably kill her if he knew she just left a mess on the floor.

She felt a small triumph at having the presence of mind to slip on her shoes before cleaning up glass, her feet dragging across the floor as she meandered to the closet in her apartment’s hallway. She swung open the door, fishing through coats, past an old red scythe in search of her broom –

…only to hear three loud bangs on the front door to her apartment, mere feet away. Yang let herself fall forward to smack her head against the trim of her closet door. If that was someone in the apartment above her complaining about having fun with her sister…she’d just have to figure out how to use Crescent Rose fast.

Yang flicked her apartment’s lock open, tugging the door inward without even glancing outside. “Look, I’m sorry we’re so loud, I’ve had a lot to drink, we’ll quiet it—“

“Yang?”

The final words of Yang’s apology caught in her throat, all thought draining from her inebriated mind as she took in the woman before her. At first, she merely stared, violet eyes wide – though Yang didn’t know whether from shock, or sadness, or anger. Eventually, she settled on anger.

“You have a lot of fucking nerve coming here, Blake.” She couldn’t hide the low growl that laced her words – perhaps if she had been sober, she could have buried the utter disdain in her tone. Some small part of her wavered as she watched her old teammate shrink where she stood.

“I…know, Yang. Believe me, I know. But…” Yang clenched her jaw tightly as she watched Blake search for her bravery. “I got evicted tonight. I need a place to stay.” Her words were measured, robotic – as though she were reporting, rather than begging.

“So go to a homeless shelter.” Yang’s attention fixated on the black-and-red mess where Blake’s eye should be. She got punched…but this was more than just a small fight. There was too much blood, and she hadn’t cleaned it yet – Yang could tell by the sweat that glinted on her brow. And, for all her faults, Yang couldn’t believe she had forgotten how to use her Aura, or Gambol Shroud. No; this was something more.

“…I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t, Yang.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Blake was silent, but her fallen gaze spoke for her.

“Yang, who’s at the door—“

A violet glare and a desperate single-eyed look of panic met Ruby where she stood. Naturally, as her silver gaze peeked around her sister’s form, she was oblivious to the cue.

“Oh, hey, Blake! Wow, you haven’t come here in years, how are you - …what happened to your eye?”

“Ruby, go clean up.” Yang shoved the handle of her broom into her sister’s chest without looking backward.

“But I—”

Yang didn’t bother repeating herself. She took a single stomp out into the hallway, yanking the door shut behind her with a booming slam. Though she could feel her face burning with fury, she couldn’t help but thank fate that no one was truly coming to complain about the noise. It was bad enough that Blake saw her like this.

“Yang, _please_.” She practically felt the last semblance of Blake’s pride melt away in her measured syllables. “I know how this looks. I understand how you feel. But don’t you think that if I had any other option, I would’ve chosen that first?”

That was a good point, she admitted to herself. Blake was stupid, but she wasn’t an idiot. She had to know it would go this way.

“This is me begging, Yang. I know that –”

“Shut up.”

For not the first time in her life, Blake went entirely silent at Yang’s command.

“You’ve got a lot of _fucking_ nerve coming here, Blake.” Yang hated herself in this moment, as she felt hot tear roll down her cheek. If she had known Blake would be dumb enough to come here, she would have stayed sober for the sake of her composure. “And don’t you dare take this the wrong way – I really, really want to just leave you out on the street. But I’m not going to. I don’t run out on people.” Yang paused to let the barb sink into Blake’s mind. “I’m doing this for the Blake I used to know. You’ve got a month. Then I never want to see you for the rest of my life. Understand?”

Blake only nodded.

“Get Ruby to help you bring your stuff in. If your eye isn’t better in the morning, go to the hospital.” Yang left the door cracked behind her as she shot across her apartment. Thankfully, she tucked away into her bedroom just before the flood of tears came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you know what they say about intentions, right?
> 
> The bad news is that I took this long to update - school unfortunately takes priority over fictional angst. The good news is that the story is pretty much done; it only needs to be uploaded. So, updates will be far more frequent.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction in probably ten years. The writing will get better as it goes, I promise.
> 
> The intention is to update this weekly, usually on Saturdays. However, I also might take a few days past that deadline. For the one of you who might be waiting desperately for updates - they'll come in time.


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